The very carefully blank expression that had closed up over Ron's face when 'Hermione' and 'veela' came clashing together in his mind collapsed into an affronted stare. "I can't be a hag," he insisted, throwing a appraising look in Harry's direction. "I haven't got the hair for it."
It was nice to be able to laugh (even nicer to see Hermione descend to it, however slightly), because, really, polyjuice was just going to make this even more unpleasant than it was already bound to be. "Saturday," he muttered, without objection. Not nearly far enough away.